Devil in the Darkwood
by Fictional-Nympho
Summary: Thranduil is forced to believe he's being haunted by an insatiable spirit, and Harry's nightly rituals get a little more... heated. Neither of them are complaining. M/M, Smut, Dimention Travelling and Sex Magic ahoy!


Rated T for now for safety, but the rating will most certainly go up as the fic goes on.

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 **Chapter 1**

It started out quite lightly, Thranduil noted. At first, it was merely in his indulgent slumbers when he would hear the muted catching of breath. The soft, pleasured sighs quiet enough to fool an elf into believing it was merely the sleepy, half-awake wistfulness of a being who had gone without the pleasures of the flesh for so very long.

But- albeit slowly- they progressed into something much, much more… Distracting.

In fact, his second and third experiences with the curious breaking of the silence within his chambers were still so very, very quiet, that he was half tempted to pass it off as the echoes of some dallying servants resonating through the walls of his sanctuary. But the offence at having thought any subject of his would flout themselves in such a way so near to his chambers, to disturb his peace in such a manner had him searching. Let the embarrassment at having been caught by their king in the act solve the issue he had thought.

But he had found nothing. And for a fair while after, he had heard nothing. And so, thinking he had perhaps dissuaded the perpetrators, the noises plagued his thoughts no more.

…That is, until the day new sounds began to assault his ears.

Louder this time, though certainly not so loud as to alert anyone outside of his rooms, Thranduil's lazy peace was broken when his ears picked up the sound of a lightsmack come from within his sleeping quarters. And more startlingly, the noise was followed by a low, almost guttural moan of pleasure that quickly trailed into a familiar intake of breath.

Thranduil's head snapped around to the direction of the noise as he quickly placed his book down on the table in front of him. The cold feeling of indignant fury raced through his veins as he rose and stalked around the elegant, sweeping arches of wood that divided the main parlour of his rooms from his bedchambers. Exquisite robes whorled around his long legs as he rounded the corner to his sleeping quarter, fully expecting to find some too daring miscreant, some utterly moronic, soon-to be-regretful fool of an elf in his bed. Though only the great Ilúvatar himself would know how such a disobeyer had arrived without a wisp of sound reaching his ears upon entering.

Sharp words of punishment set upon his lips were frozen however, when he finally set eyes upon the silken sheets of his pallet. And there was nothing there.

Absolutely no indications of any ellon or elleth reached his sharp eyes as he gazed around the room in utter confusion, anger slowly draining out of his system one breath at a time. He looked back at his bed once more. Nothing. Not even a single strand of hair dusted the pristine cloths. The only forms upon it were the soft, downy white-furs of his blankets, and the plush, hand-embroidered pillows littering the sidelines.

He took a step further into the room.

Worryingly, Thranduil was beginning to wonder if perhaps he'd briefly taken leave of his senses. His ears were telling him something that his eyes were not, and his head was inclined to believe both. It would've been maddening were he not so wise to the subject of impatience.

On this track he brushed aside the quick passing thoughts of his own mental faculties, and was not inclined to so easily believe he had imagined the scandalous sound from a mere moment ago.

So he decided to wait.

Crossing the room on near silent feet Thranduil perched himself on the empty pallet and got comfortable. One booted leg rising to cross over the other, and two long-fingered hands descending to clasp one another in his lap as he stilled and strained his ears to listen. And listen. And listen some more.

And… he heard nothing.

Following this, the next few silent minutes ticked by with the forest king admiring the finely crafted tapestries draping his walls. The graceful, sweeping designs of hand-stitched silver leaves curling around delicately sewn white elk were absolutely exquisite in design and placement around the entrance to his rooms, so he gazed at them openly and with respect for the more talented portion of his populace.

And when he grew tired of this, he uncrossed and re-crossed his legs, began kicking one boot clad foot back and forth lightly from the high pendulum of his knee and started inspecting the perfect state of his nail beds while he waited.

This ritual of patient boredom kept for a long while, until the elven-king finally conceded to rising for a brief moment and adjourning to the main parlour table where he had left his book, which he brought back to the bed with him.

He allowed himself a quick eye-roll as he contemplated how to get comfortably reclined for the long haul. Before sitting down to remove his boots and pushing himself up the bed, robes inelegantly trailing after him across the furs.

Thankfully the abundance of cushions came in useful as he sat back into them and crossed his feet at the ankles this time, hands propping his reading material up on a firm stomach.

It was comfortable, slightly undignified in his inelegant posture, but comfortable none the less. And most importantly, it was suitable for his purpose of _waiting_.

So he settled in and relaxed, and after a time any thought beyond his book began to fade. All his outside duties were naught, for his kingdom knew how to take care of itself, and nary a thing had disturbed the security of his peoples for a long time. Legolas was away with his captain of the guard and his guardsmen, looking after the forest and its borders, so there was no worry there. And he indulged in the peace of his home and his long lived elvish heritage by reading his books and drinking away his wine cellar most days.

Soon enough, but not too soon, his patience was rewarded.

Just as he was about to begin a passage anew his pointed ears caught the hushed sound of what he thought of as some rather racy panting, every other intake of air would catch on a tiny, wordless murmur that he couldn't make out. He gave no indication of hearing any of this, though his hair did not hide the blush that overtook the tips of his ears at finally having… clear confirmation of a rather raunchy disturber of the peace.

…Whom, he could not see.

Frowning into his pages again, he strained his ears to try and pinpoint the location of the noise which to this moment seemed curiously disembodied.

He struggled to find a source, and annoyed at the seeming inability of his senses again Thranduil got out of the bed as silently as he could and began pacing the sides of the room, eager to be rid of the nuisance.

Oddly, and rather disquietingly, he could not pinpoint the source from anywhere outside. In fact, the more he took a turn passed each corner of his bed chamber, the more his ears dragged his eyes to the very centre of the space.

Where there was nothing to be seen.

Thranduil grit his teeth and, wondering at illusions and trickery, very quickly swept the area where he instinctively believed the source of the noise to be with a broad palm, and met only air. And the sounds hadn't stopped either, not even a hitched breath as he'd moved towards the ruckus. If he'd truly gotten close, such an intruder would have given indication of panic at such quick movements surely.

The elf king scowled and stalked into the main chambers and saw that there was nothing.

He left his rooms and hunted the corridors directly outside. There was nothing at all.

Alerting any guardsman would raise more alarm than necessary, especially as, despite the infuriatingly imbecilic levels of such a prank, he so far did truly believe it was just so. Tom-foolery. And punishment would be dealt swiftly when he found the wretch himself.

Though, perhaps in the back of his mind, a very slight conscious thought went out to the fact that this _could_ be an act of an over-active, and highly _frustrated_ imagination. But he ignored that quiet part of his psyche and carried on, not wanting to acknowledge the places such thoughts could lead.

So as he ventured back into his once peaceful sanctuary, Thranduil wondered if the noises may have left with him. If he'd be greeted with the telling silence of a perpetrator who'd ran the instant he'd stepped outside and given them an inch. Proving the physical existence of the spineless coward who'd dared to bother him.

The improper sounds remained irritatingly constant.

So he began searching.

He entered his robe-space and rooted through the finely crafted silks and found no one.

He looked under his pallet, his flaxen waterfall of hair brushing the floor as he gazed beneath the richly carved structure and saw nothing.

Storming not-so-regally into the main parlour and uprooting every nook and cranny and cupboard space he could find yielded no results either.

And so, upon re-entering the archway to his bedchambers once more and discovering that the noises had stopped before he could find a subject to bring his wrath down upon, he actually cursed.

But he didn't have to wait so long this time.

The sound of a low _smack_ similar to the one he'd heard earlier quickly drew his gaze once more to the very centre of his room.

" _Ah! P-Please!"_

Thranduil's eyes widened and he actually re-treated a step from the voice which had _most definitely_ come from the exact spot he was looking at. Could it possibly..?

"Who are you?" he asked aloud. He did not recognise the voice. He had not recognised the _Language_. And he _did not_ like the out of control feeling he was getting of the situation.

He was answered with a hot moan and another hitched breath, this one sounding particularly tortured.

And despite his countenance, his cheeks actually darkened.

What kind of circumstance was he in, truly, that some form of invisible spectre would cross the void to haunt the front of his bed and make _those_ sorts of sounds. It was ridiculous, unreal, and entirely too difficult to suspend disbelief.

So he searched on with flaming cheeks, though he put his boots back on to venture farther outside and travel the looping stairways leading to any rooms that may be both above and below his own, though there were few.

He relaxed minutely outside, when his pinkened cheeks faded to their usual marble portrait mere moments after emerging from his private quarters before any guards or servants could see.

But again, his search came up completely empty.

In a fleeting span of time, the sun had fallen below the horizon above the surface of the caves. Guard rosters changed and those off duty began their usual song and dance of the jollies of nettle-wine and good natured chanting. Filling the hallways with sound and airy laughter as their king grew increasingly frustrated, and more and more incredulous to the situation.

He had found no one, and his rooms had been spared no litany of lustful sighs and pleasured groans in all the time he'd been searching. Perhaps even more ridiculous was the thought that, if someone- some _form_ of Eru damned _spirit-_ was truly being pleasured within his apartments then by now they'd been going about it for _hours_.

Thranduil allowed for a small outward grimace.

He wouldn't be sleeping for a while.

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So i'm actually severely adicted to HP/LOTR/HOBBIT/SILMARILLION Crossovers, and despite there being a lot out there (well depending on you definition of a lot,) I still kinda feel a little bit lackluster about the number of full length fics with comprehensive sexual tension and/or smut. So er... this is gunna be my contribution to that category lol xD This is also posted on Ao3 If anyone is interested :) Just visit my profile for the link 3

Lastly, this may or may not be my first contribution to the fanfiction community ^.^; so i would love to know your thoughts x


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